


Exposé

by Aussiegirl41



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussiegirl41/pseuds/Aussiegirl41
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst awaiting the retrial, Harriet has a daily visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposé

**Author's Note:**

> Based upon the canon of Strong Poison, the novel, because some of the ideas in this fic were changed around for the tv series.

Harriet Vane was led through into the visitors’ room and commanded to sit at the end of a long wooden table. A full five minutes later, the door on the other side of the room opened and a gentleman entered. He was fair in appearance, a dapper gentleman about town her friends would say, with a monocle perched in one eye. His name was Lord Peter Wimsey. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Harriet greeted Wimsey as he took a seat at the opposite end of the solid table.

“Well now. Not the rapturous welcome I was hoping for when I walked through His Majesty's iron gates and begged the gov’nr a visit with my favourite prisoner.”

Harriet Vane allowed him the slightest of smiles. “Do you know any other prisoners here?”

Wimsey tilted his head and contemplated for a moment. “I might. One would need to obtain a list of names somehow.” 

“You are the one who is having the private audience with the ‘gov’nr’, not I,” she pointed out.

“Of course, it’s not that I want you to fall over with gratitude or joy at my daily visits, made to liven your spirits or anything.” 

Wimsey did visit daily. The first visit had been the most eventful by far. He’d proposed marriage to Miss Vane, an idea she’d quickly dismissed as ridiculous and sensibly rejected. His next proposal had been to offer his services to investigate the murder of a man she once lived with, Phillip Boyes. Showing further wisdom, Harriet was less resolved to raise an objection to this offer. 

One jury had been unable to decide whether Harriet had given Phillip the lethal dose of arsenic, but surely a second would not, and she would hang unless the real murderer was found. And thus, Lord Peter Wimsey was employed to the case.

A sudden thought occurred to Lord Peter at that moment. Many letters had been sent to the gaol, love letters of sorts from strangers, also offering their hand in marriage. “Or were you expecting some other chap? Have you let one of your devoted letter writers come to call whilst I grind away plotting your defence?” He simply could not consider his own romantic overtures to be comparable! 

“No, I shan't like to encourage any of those delusional fools.” Harriet glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. “But it’s only eleven o’clock. You call in the afternoons.”

“Do I?” Wimsey asked, after twisting in his seat to check Miss Vane was quite correct in her ability to read a timepiece. “I’m a predictable beast, what?”

“No, I don’t find you predictable at all. Which is rather unsettling.”

“Good, good. I like unsettling. It’s much preferable to repulsive, and a step closer to charming and desirable, I should imagine.”

“Maybe,” Harriet replied quietly. “Lord Wimsey--”

It was not Lord Peter’s habit to interrupt anyone, let alone the woman he had fallen for so completely, but on this occasion he did just that. “You cannot call me Lord Wimsey, my dear.”

“Why in heaven not? It is your name,” Harriet so rightly pointed out.

“It’s not an attractive name though, is it? I doesn’t roll off the tongue like most exalted monikers. Lord Chambers. Lord Littlewood. Lord Forbes-Hamilton. All elicit dulcet tones from the utterer. Even Lady Wimsey has a gayer ring to it than Lord Wimsey. You must promise me here and now you won’t call me that when in the throes of passion on our honeymoon.”

Harriet blinked. “What shall I call you then?”

“Oh, heavens shall fall down and scatter me with a glee of stars! You are not ruling out a honeymoon! The throes of passion thing is obvious should we be on our honeymoon.”

“That’s a filthy trick, twisting my words.”

“A man in love is like a cur on the back lanes of Whitechapel, snarling over whatever small scraps are thrown his way from London’s thriftiest.”

“That’s not much of a simile.”

“You won’t use it in one of your novels?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Don’t say I did not attempt to help your sales.”

“What is it?” Harriet suddenly demanded, making Peter physically start.

“What is what? All is well and well is all and all that. Our month is a merry way along and we will prevail and all that. Do you like my tie?” Peter patted down his bright yellow necktie, leaving his matching handkerchief in case he should ruffle the fine way his man had placed it. 

“Bunter chose it, of course, but I did tell him, ‘Something fresh and fancy today for our Miss Vane’ and he, of course replied, in that tone that infuriates but calms me just as well on the odd day, not that I’m being odd today, mind you, but that’s the tone he used when he replied, ‘Yes, my Lord, I’ll do my best for Miss Vane’. See, if I’d ask him for a colour and pattern sure to cheer up my soul, he would have gone off and chosen something quite different, but he is quite taken with you and your story and I’m sure he’ll be most hospitable once we marry.”

Harriet’s eyes narrowed. “What is it? Something terribly awful? I want to know, you know.”

“It’s the colour of summer’s peak sun, do you not think?” Then, when Miss Vane’s serious face made it clear she would not continue unless he offered her some tidbit about the case: “Miss Climpson has been despatched and I expect a report from her any day now full of good things. She is the most terrific old girl.”

“She’s a treasure, your Miss Climpson, but I do think you are hiding something from me Lord Wimsey.”

“Stop! I beg of you. That name again! The name I am stuck with, nevertheless, and proud to bits of it really, but do not breathe that to a soul, because my entire reputation will be shot down in flames, but to hear you address me with such formality does not bode well in my heart somehow.”

“Why are you early?” Harriet asked, ignoring his attempts to distract her.

“Is that to be your evidence of my concealing some secret?”

“That, yes. And your mood.”

“To flog that well-worn subject, we should be a very happy couple when wedded if you see through my dancing around so easily. But fear not, I have happy news. My good friend and ally, Charles Parker--"

"The policeman who..."

"The very one! Charles has asked my sister, Lady Mary Wimsey, to be his betrothed. Lady Mary Wimsey! See, it sounds much superior in every way.”

“She accepted this proposal?”

“Of course she did! Mrs Mary Parker is even a prettier name.” 

The guard tapped the window, indicating the visitor had another ten minutes.

“I took her aside and gave her a strong talking to recently. I explained that a man’s heart cannot be trifled with for years as she must stop playing her feminine games on my poor Parker. You see, he caught this disease years ago, and I now only truly understand the extent of his misery.”

“How goes your family when facing such an engagement?” 

“True love shall blow across the gulfs dividing them and all that, what. Just as it will with you and I one day, I pray fervently.”

Harriet was made of sterner stuff, however, and would not be persuaded from her objective completely, despite the news of the upcoming nuptials. “So this is the good news, what is the bad news?” 

“You are a persistent wrench,” Wimsey accused.

“Peter--”

“Oh, that’s done it. You are not just a wrench, but a minx made by God to bring me to my knees! I knew it! You did that deliberately, did you not? My foolish Christian name given by my Mater to make me melt under the blazing heat of my neck tie and give in to your demands.” He paused, then he pounded the table with one resounding blow. “They found the packet,” he admitted dully after his bout of physical temper.

If Peter was to prove Harriet innocent, the most likely scenario had seemed to be to show that Phillip had committed suicide. A packet containing a white substance, once belonging to Phillip if the publican’s wife was to be believed, had been found. 

“It did not contain arsenic,” Harriet murmured confidently. Peter’s demeanour would be wholly different should it be otherwise.

“No. Simply bicarb of soda,” he confirmed. 

“We’re back to square one then.”

“No, by joves we are not.” The amateur sleuth jumped up and headed for the door. Before he swept out of the room, he turned back to the accused. “I knew you would make me see sense and the bright side of this pitiful life. We have eliminated one possibility and that leaves us with one less in our suspect pool. You are right, dearest, one less red herring to deal with in this abominable case.”

Wimsey tapped on the door, signalling the guard he was ready to exit the room. Like every visit, his abrupt way of leaving unnerved and delighted Harriet equally.

The door was opened by the sombre-faced female guard, but Peter did not step through the opening immediately. “I do plan on thanking you properly for this lightening of my mood one day you know,” he told Harriet as he hovered in the doorway. “In a gentlemanly manner upon your lips perhaps might be the best course.”

“My lips?” Harriet gasped, shocked that Lord Peter should speak so brazenly in front of the guard.

“Slowly and thoroughly, as a gentleman always deduces a lady would appreciate.” 

With that, Peter disappeared, to the free world where he would continue to slay dragons on the accused’s behalf.

Harriet Vane, being a practical sort of girl despite the mess she’d gotten herself into with Phillip Boyes, was surprised she was looking forward to Peter's visit tomorrow. Hopefully he'd drop by some time in the afternoon.

The End


End file.
